


POV

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue and Magneto connected for a long time; she remembers everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	POV

The white streak is something she’s used to now; even when Bobby teases her about it, she doesn’t care. It’s different, she _likes it_ , she says. In truth, when Rogue’s alone, lying in her bed in the mansion and things are quiet, she touches the long hair that’s pale and pale and she shuts her eyes and remembers.

At first she worries about the professor reading her, and she tries to block out what’s filing her young mind. But the morning after the first “dream” he merely greets her with a traditional _good morning_ and goes about his business, smiling at the other students and conversing quietly with Storm about something he’s read in the papers that disturbs him.

Rogue bites her lip, but she treads through the mansion like normal, fingering the streak in her hair almost unconsciously.

The second night she sits bolt upright, gasping, as though something’s holding her chest, a heavy dark object, the weight of water? She’s not sure. As she drifts off, the professor’s voice rattles around her skull, and she calms enough to sleep with no memories that aren’t her own.  


The third night, however, the dream is different. It’s too clear and she can see the professor through eyes not her own as though she were standing next to him in the backyard of the mansion, an old satellite dish filling the horizon. She thinks that’s weird for a moment, until her hands reach out and she feels the strain of her effort, her face red, sweat framing her hair line, fingers shaking and _the damn thing won’t budge_.

A gasp leaves her throat and _Charles is beside him; do you mind…? He hesitates to ask, but Erik shrugs imperceptibly and he tries not to laugh at the idea of being sound enough to find a place that’s not the rage._

 _And the candles are there and his Mama, and he feels the unbidden and hated moisture filling his eyes and spilling down – only one – and his left hand twists and Charles is there, hand on his shoulder, soft voice in his ear. It doesn’t matter what he’s murmuring. The dish groans and turns and Erik’s mouth is a rictus of victory, his teeth shining, his lips pulled back as triumph surges through his body and he laughs – laughs! – for the first time since he had pulled from his parents arms. He looks at Charles, and the other man (he has a full head of hair; strange) wipes the tears from under his eyes. That’s a beautiful memory, Erik, thank you._

 _I didn’t know I still had that._

She blinks and is awake, her hand clutching the long grey streak that is Magneto’s, tears standing in her own eyes. The mansion is deathly silent and Rogue at last lets go of the hair, winding her hands together, the only thing she can safely touch. The clock on her mantel chimes once, twice.

 _Rogue, are you alright?_

“I’m fine, professor,” she says aloud, lips shaky and face burning with the tears.

 _Go to sleep, child._

She lies down, ignoring the pain she hears in the voice in her head, and closes her eyes, thankful she can’t read or remember the memories she’s now full of from Xavier’s point of view.


End file.
